


The Greengrass Boy

by stevem1



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28820907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevem1/pseuds/stevem1
Summary: Premise:  Canon until about a year before the Cursed Child.  In canon, Astoria Greengrass dies due to the blood malediction in August 2019.  The events of the Cursed Child start about a year later.  What if her sister had discovered Nott’s time turners and decided to do something about her sister’s death before then?  Her plan?  Interrogate the most vile dark lord in a century in search of a cure.  And maybe take over wizarding Britain by kidnapping and raising Hermione and Harry.Pairings:  None for a good bit of the story.  Daphne has a blood malediction which makes a relationship ill-advised.  I’m considering Harry/Luna towards the end of the story, though I normally favor H/Hr (which won’t work here for reasons which will become clearer).  No harem, no slash.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer- This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Harry Potter world, which is trademarked by J. K. Rowling. I do not claim any ownership over any characters or the world of Harry Potter. The story I tell here is not part of J.K. Rowling's story canon (which is far better than anything I could write). I’m only borrowing some of her characters to practice fiction writing. The fanfiction story of The Greengrass Boy is for entertainment only, I will make no money off of it, and is not part of the official story line.

Rating: PG13. Implied and/or non-graphic: sex, violence, and torture. Some bad language (British slang).

Cross-posted on fanfiction.net under the same username.

The Greengrass Boy  
Chapter One

“You are going to do what?” Daphne Greengrass asked in disbelief, staring hard at the man she despised most in this world. 

This was not the conversation she thought she’d be having with her brother in law, three weeks following her sister’s death. She had accepted his invitation to visit Malfoy Manor expecting to discuss Scorpius’ care, not time travel.

It was obvious Draco Malfoy had become a physical wreck since her sister’s passing and Scorpius returning to Hogwarts. His eyes were dull, shrunken and surrounded with dark rings. His appearance was gaunt, jaundiced and unshaven. His hair was wild and unwashed. His clothes were disheveled and stained. He hadn’t showered or eaten in days. 

Despite her emotional tone of voice, it did not truly come from the heart, though part of her wished she could unleash her anger on him. As always, she was careful to keep her heartbeat steady, her emotions regulated, safe behind her constant Occlumency barriers. While it pleased her that her nephew’s father was in extreme pain, she was careful not to give too much attention to the sensation. She wished him a lifetime of misery, but she wished to be there to see him suffer every moment of it.

“I have a time turner. A true time turner. Nott created it.” He repeated himself as he fidgeted with some papers before signing in several places and pushing them toward his sister in law. “I’m designating you as Scorpius’ legal and magical guardian. Don’t let my parents raise him to be a blood supremacist.”

She understood his concerns, though she didn’t let that understanding show on her impassive face. Draco’s parents were still very much supremacists, which she thought amusing considering their betrayal of Voldemort. Despite Voldemort’s fall, and Granger seizing control of the Ministry with Harry Potter’s support, blood supremacy was still rife in society. 

Potter was no longer loved as the Boy Who Lived. He was now feared as the Man Who Conquered, the Dark Lord’s equal. But he was finding that personal power did not equate to the power to change hearts and minds. Even he and Granger’s appeals to people’s better angels fell flat in the face of pureblood, and even halfblood, self-interest.

Daphne didn’t bother to keep the contempt from her voice as she ignored the papers resting before her. “So Theo Nott has a time turner. Your plan is to do what, exactly? Travel through time and not murder my sister?”

Draco flinched as he dropped his eyes. “I’m good at potions. If I have the extra time, I can become a master and maybe find a cure. I can save her.” 

Tears were welling up in his eyes. She didn’t let it affect her, as she kept her face a blank mask and her emotions calm even if her thoughts were critical. She knew Draco well. His tears were of self-pity, not true remorse. In the end, Draco was always about Draco. He knew he was killing her sister, even as he enjoyed life, magic, and family with her. 

Both intense emotion and magic triggered the malediction cursing the Greengrass women. Astoria wanted to live life and love, despite her curse. Malfoy was happy to help her, despite knowing he was accelerating her death all the while. Now that the chickens had come home to roost, he wept crocodile tears.

Fortunately, as long as Daphne controlled her heart rate and didn’t let her emotions flood her system with hormones, her own curse wouldn’t trigger. She had made a different choice than Astoria and had set about mastering the Mind Arts from an early age which had proven tremendously beneficial in controlling her emotions.

“I am a potions master, Draco. And a master of Runes and Arithmancy,” she said, her voice filled with scorn. She didn’t bother to mention her expertise in curse breaking, or near mastery of Astronomy and Herbology. As the wanded arts posed great risks to the Greengrass women, Daphne had focused her considerable drive and intellect on the comparatively more esoteric magics. While Draco wasn’t stupid, he fell well short of her. “There is no amount of time which would enable you to match my knowledge and skill. If I haven’t been able to find a cure, what makes you think you can?”

Draco looked as if he were near a breakdown as he hunched behind his desk in Malfoy Manor. “I have to do something!” he cried desperately. This time tears did flow.

She contemplated him impassively. Theodore Nott was a bit of a genius. It was barely possible he had managed to improve a time turner. Her sister was dead. She couldn’t undo that. Not without a true time turner, at least. She resolved to consider the possibility what Draco was saying was true, as an intellectual exercise. She had no other options, really.

In truth, she was just as distressed as Draco appeared. More, perhaps. She just couldn’t allow herself to experience the emotion.

Something occurred to her as she turned over the possibility in her mind. There was one resource she could learn from which was not available to her now, but would be in the past. A wizard who was the most recognized expert in the Dark Arts in more than a century. 

Voldemort. If Granger’s biography on the war and Potter’s life was accurate, including those details she’d tried to gloss over but which were obvious to anyone with any significant expertise in curses or the Dark Arts, she knew how to access that knowledge with little risk to herself.

“Do you have the time turner? I should inspect it before you do something foolish and irrevocable.” She allowed the smallest hint of compassion to enter her voice. Draco was a fool. He was easily manipulated if one used even a small bit of positive feedback. 

Not that she cared, but she suspected he didn’t get a lot of love during his childhood. Lucius was a cruel father, imposing unreasonably high expectations on his only child and punishing him ruthlessly when he fell short. Narcissa was only a little better. She loved her son, but she was a distant mother, fixing her focus on ensuring her family’s place in society. Neither showered him with unconditional love, though in Narcissa’s case Daphne thought it was only because she lacked the ability to fully express herself.

It was how Astoria attracted him. Her sister was nothing but happy and energetic, always looking at the positive side of life, even as her life slipped away with increasing rapidity. She’d been a golden soul.

In her more honest moments, Daphne would concede that Astoria was easy to love and didn’t blame Draco for being attracted to her warm and accepting spirit. She did blame him for giving into his baser desires and not protecting her sister. That would have required Draco to sacrifice his own happiness, something he’d never do even though he’d acted the part of a reluctant lover.

Draco nodded jerkily, as he stood and more stumbled than walked toward a portrait. A distant ancestor looked at him with great concern, as he swung it to one side revealing a wall safe. He made no effort to conceal how to enter the safe, so Daphne made sure to note the combination and password, as well as the location he smeared his blood after biting his thumb. 

He retrieved an intricate gold and platinum hourglass, with the glittering sands cased in exceptionally fine crystal. When he placed it on the desk, she expanded her senses to contemplate the heavily enchanted object. It did appear to be a time turner of some sort. An exceptionally powerful one at that.

Interested despite herself, it was some minutes before she allowed herself to speak. “Where are the notes and plans for this device? Surely there is something I can use to check the arithmancy and rune work before you decide to use it and maybe kill yourself traipsing through time.” 

Draco collapsed into his high back chair as his shoulders slumped with relief. He must have thought there was a chance I’d try to stop him, she mused. 

Of course he was right. He couldn’t be trusted with this opportunity. He lacked the intelligence, knowledge, drive and ruthlessness necessary to succeed.

She was a much better choice.

“Nott has them, as well as the prototype,” he sighed, obviously relieved.

A prototype. Of course there’d be another of these things. She adjusted her plans. 

“I’ll keep this for further inspection,” she announced, taking the time turner. Her tone was decisive, brooking no dispute. He stayed his objection due to force of habit. Not even a Malfoy would look forward to challenging the Ice Queen if she wanted something. “You can put off your trip for a few days. Make an appointment for us to visit Nott. If only for Scorpius’ sake, I want to inspect the prototype and his notes to make sure the theory is sound and it’s in working order before you potentially kill yourself. In the meantime, go visit your son. This might be the last time you see him.” 

That actually wasn’t the case but he needed to think she was onboard with his insane plan. He had been a poor Slytherin. To this day she didn’t know why he’d been sorted into the house of cunning. He was far better suited to Gryffindor.

He nodded again in relief. “It’ll take a few days. Nott is a bit squirrelly and loses track of time.” His tone betrayed no recognition as to the unintentional hilarity of his statement.

“Good. In the meantime, update your estate plan.” She picked up the guardianship papers he’d pushed toward her and tossed them into the study’s fireplace. They caught quickly and were reduced to ash in moments. 

Seeing the look of disbelief in his eyes, she smiled lopsidedly. “You didn’t consider all the variables. I have the same blood malediction as Torie and my nephew is only thirteen. You need to re-write them. I’ll accept primary guardianship but you’ll need an alternate, just in case. I suggest Potter. He’s strong enough to put off your parents, and Scorpius and his son Albus are good friends. They’ll accept him if anything happens to me.”

Draco’s eyes lit with sorrowful understanding. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think,” he mumbled, embarrassed. “You don’t exhibit any of the symptoms and I sometimes forget.”

She looked down her nose imperiously at him. “I made different decisions than Torie, Draco. Decisions I wish she made.”

Draco collapsed back into his chair, face etched in grief. “I know, I know,” he whispered, his hand pulling at his hair anxiously. “I told her I loved her, that it was alright if the Malfoy line ended with me. She didn’t have to give birth to Scorpius. She insisted. Said she wanted to be a mother, that she wanted a child with me.” He looked wretched, which Daphne thought was pathetic. It was all for show, as far as she was concerned. “I shouldn’t have listened.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” she agreed with detached venom as she stood. “But maybe you can set matters right. Set up the meeting with Nott. Get your affairs in order.”

She wrapped her shawl around the time turner as she left via floo. She was more than capable of disapparating, but the significant draw on her magic would risk triggering her curse. 

The next several days passed in a whirlwind of activity and preparation. If this turned out to be a hoax, she would be incredibly embarrassed. But the more she looked over the time turner, the more she thought it might actually work as advertised.

She emptied a significant portion of her personal Gringotts vault into a messenger bag. It was enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm. The money, and a dozen ancient, unique books, all went into the bag. She really didn’t need anything else. It could all be replaced.

She updated her own Will, leaving everything to Scorpius. She made sure the original was left on file with Gringotts with only an authenticated copy being provided to the Ministry. 

It was a sad fact of life that greedy, malevolent goblins were more trustworthy than the Ministry. Even though the personal integrity of Granger and Potter was beyond reproach, the body itself was corrupt.

As the eldest daughter of the former Head of House Greengrass, who had died without sons, she’d inherited the headship for her lifetime. Under the normal course her uncle would take up the headship after her passing. That would be a disaster for the family as he didn’t possess an ounce of the business acumen she and her father had shared. Though young, Scorpius was more intelligent than Gareth. The family fortune was less likely to suffer under his eventual stewardship.

She knew her uncle, Gareth Greengrass, would challenge her Will, but the Malfoy wealth and influence continued unabated. She had little doubt that Lucius would act to ensure that his grandson’s material interests were protected. Astoria’s son would have every advantage she could provide him, assuming she failed. Which she thought likely.

She re-read the biography written by Granger one more time, fixing the pertinent details in her mind. It was widely considered the most authoritative work on the Second Blood War, even if she attempted to obfuscate the horcrux issue so as not to inspire others to become insane would-be dark lords.

She didn’t dare bring a copy back with her. The Ministry frowned on time travel and so obvious a piece of evidence would have her strapped to an Unspeakable’s dissection table in very short order.

She carefully researched past generations of her family tree. If she was going to be able to approach her father and gain his trust, proving she was a Greengrass with a documented pedigree would be helpful. Otherwise, her overprotective father would be unlikely to allow her access to his children. Too many charlatans had attempted to worm their way into the confidences, and vaults, of the family, under the guise of having a cure.

Thankfully, the Greengrasses were fairly prolific and there were a multitude of cadet branches to which could serve her needs. Inserting herself into a cadet branch would be a far more believable explanation of her family connection and interest than being a time traveling daughter.

Though she was bringing a fair amount of gold back with her, it would not be sufficient over the long term. She spent a lot of time memorizing quidditch scores and the results of various dueling circuits to ensure short term gains. For the long term, she’d be investing in muggle businesses like Apple, Microsoft and M&T Bank. Unlike other purebloods, the Greengrasses would take every opportunity to make money, whether in the muggle or wizarding worlds. 

And her father would be far more likely to trust if she didn’t have her hand out. A true Greengrass was expected to make money and spend it only reluctantly.

She doubted Draco had made half the preparations she had. He was a fool.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter. Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling. This fanfiction is for writing practice only and no money will be made. 

Trigger Warning: violence, death.

The Greengrass Boy  
Chapter Two

It was less than a week later that she found herself stepping out of the floo into the foyer of Nott Hall. It was a grand, old manor house which had obviously suffered from a lack of upkeep. The Nott fortune had largely been exhausted supporting Voldemort’s wars. Not a sound investment, Daphne thought smugly.

Draco had looked to have slept and eaten since she last spoke to him. He’d at least changed his clothes. He was almost presentable, other than reeking of whiskey. Daphne suspected this was his effort at preparing for his trip. 

At least he’d exercised a small amount of common sense, though a shower would have been appreciated. No matter. It played into her plans.

She herself had taken great care with her appearance. She knew that Nott had desired her during their school days. With the pragmatism of a true Slytherin, she abandoned her more usual conservative robes and dressed to take advantage of his unrequited crush. 

Despite her fortieth birthday soon approaching, she knew she was still very attractive. Her muggle-style summer dress was made of thin cotton fabric and was designed to draw attention to her body. She was sure it would capture Nott’s eye and was reasonably certain it would keep him distracted for the duration of the visit.

Unlike Draco, Nott was cunning. She wanted him thinking about her curves, not remembering basic security protocols.

She and Draco only had to wait a few minutes for Theodore Nott to make his appearance. He looked almost the same as he did in school. Tall and skeletally thin, his posture was as poor as ever. His too pale skin and narrow shoulders showed he was still adverse to sunshine and exercise. He had the same vacant, unfocused eyes. Now, however, his unwashed, greasy hair was rapidly thinning and his robes were a good deal more threadbare.

“Draco, welcome,” he said politely in a distracted tone of voice. His beetle dark eyes blinked rapidly as he took in her appearance. “Daphne,” his gaze sharpened as he spoke and took her hand to kiss, “welcome.”

A gentleman was expected to hold a lady’s hand lightly, and barely brush his lips against the back. Nott was no gentleman. He squeezed her hand tightly as he slobbered over it, to her concealed disgust. 

In school, despite his infatuation with her, she’d done her best to avoid him. Failing that, she’d ignored him. But he had been awkwardly persistent and made it difficult. Thankfully, some things never changed. 

“Thank you, Theo,” she responded dispassionately, her mask firmly in place as she took her hand back. 

“Daphne would like to double check the arithmancy and runic array of the improved time turner, before I test it,” Draco impatiently interjected. “We’d like to get that done today.”

Nott perked up at that and appeared excited that someone was interested in his work. He and Draco began a quick exchange on what Daphne hoped to accomplish during the meeting. Despite it being her task, she remained silent as the supposed gentleman worked out the details, as was proper. 

Sometimes pureblood traditions suited her. More often they did not.

As soon as Nott’s attention momentarily returned to Draco she surreptitiously wiped the back of her hand on a spare handkerchief. Unlike her younger self, she had no difficulty suppressing the sensation of her skin crawling at his touch. Though the reminder made what she was about to do much easier.

“Come, follow me to the workshop.” Without waiting for their acknowledgement, he took them deeper into his home. His long legs moved at a rapid pace. Daphne suppressed her irritation at having to almost jog to keep up with him.

Nott’s workshop was in the basement. It was a large, rectangular room. Daphne noticed with interest that it was well ventilated, though there was no natural sunlight. Instead, a series of enchanted stones were embedded at regular intervals in the ceiling. The light they provided was barely adequate. 

A dozen workbenches were scattered haphazardly about. Theo led them to the largest one, scarred and made of heavy oak. A variety of engraving, goldsmith and jeweler tools were scattered about, intermixed with many pages of loose parchment. Numerous scrolls were tucked into cubby holes backing the work bench.

“This is where I’ve been working on the time turner project,” he announced enthusiastically, torn between leering at Daphne and praising his own intellect. 

He gestured toward a small, less ornate version of the time turner she had in her possession. It was resting on the back of the workbench, perched above the cubby holes. “That is the prototype. It will send you back into time for five minutes, and then return you. You have the completed version, Draco. I’m hoping if I obtain enough funding that I can make further improvements.”

Nott obviously thought he was being subtle in asking for more money from Draco. She suppressed an eye roll, while Draco ignored him in favor of casting a questioning glance toward her. He clearly wanted to get this over with.

“Are these the plans for the runic arrays and the arithmancy calculations?” Daphne asked impassively. She made sure she stepped to the left of both Theo and Draco.

“Yes,” Theo replied, appearing disappointed that his hint was being ignored. “You have everything you need to double check my work.” He didn’t appear to be as enthusiastic to have his work inspected, now that it was seeping into his brain that the Malfoy vaults were not going to be cast open for him again.

“Excellent,” Daphne said, forcing herself to give Theo a small smile. She despised playing the role, but she needed him distracted for a few more moments. His face brightened and he made no effort to conceal his eyes roving up and down her body. She ignored her rising irritation, pushing it into the recesses of her mind. This was the result she intended, after all. “Draco, help Theo organize this mess while I take care of a foul odor and then inspect the prototype.”

Draco sighed, thinking that she was referring to his unwashed smell, but moved to do as she asked. Once he stood near Nott, she reached into her messenger bag and pulled out what appeared to be a small bottle of perfume. 

She quickly pumped the bottle twice over the table, and then once each on Nott and Draco, before stepping back. Draco wrinkled his nose at the floral scent, while Nott ignored it in favor of stacking the parchment into a semblance of order.

It took them about five seconds to hit the ground. She was pleased. Her last variant would have taken nearly thirty seconds to render them unconscious. 

She quickly stripped them of their wands, and was reassured to find that Draco had a backup wand and knife concealed on his person. At least he wasn’t a complete idiot. This boded well for Scorpius’ future prospects.

Still, she was disappointed. Her nephew’s father should have been more alert, more of a challenge. Though to be fair, not many wizards would know to be on the lookout for an aerosolized Sleeping Draught.

Even without magic it was only a matter of minutes to have them hogtied, bound hand and foot behind their backs with muggle handcuffs and chains. In an excess of caution, she wrapped thin leather straps throughout their fingers to impair any use of wandless magic, though she doubted either was capable. They weren’t Potter. A ball gag and hood quickly followed. 

Practice made progress, she half laughed to herself. She had spent many hours practicing with dummies to make sure her movements were quick and precise. After they were as secure as she could make them, she had to suppress her unexpected giddiness. 

All her life wizards and witches had acted as if she had a disability, that she was weak, due to her reluctance to use her wand for anything but trivial spells. It was hard to resist the feeling of triumph in besting two fairly strong wizards with nothing more than a modified potion and a perfume bottle. 

But she forced herself to mediate, to observe her feelings dispassionately from all angles, and then set them aside. Excessive gloating would lead to nothing good.

Once she was in the right frame of mind, she began to review Nott’s calculations and rune work. Despite herself, she was impressed. The man was a genius. If he didn’t radiate such a disturbing aura, she might actually have been forced to suppress an attraction to him, or at least his mind. 

As it was, she had no difficulty. Despite being a genius he was also a dangerous creep.

A fact that was reinforced once she stripped the hood from his head to stare into his eyes and force a Legilimency probe deep into his memories. In his disoriented, half asleep state, he wasn’t able to mount any effective resistance. Knowing the forceful intrusion would harm him mentally, she soothed herself with the thought that what she was doing was necessary, for Astoria’s sake.

She soon lost the last shreds of her reluctance after a prolonged review of his memories. There was a reason he took the Dark Mark, as evidenced by the dozens of secret graves of young muggle girls scattered about the property. They were small, defenseless children, uniformly blonde and blue eyed. They bore an uncomfortable resemblance to herself during first year. 

She hurriedly reinforced her shields and compartmentalized her mounting rage. Despite his impressive intellect, in his soul, at his core, Nott was a monster.

Once she had what she wanted, she obliviated him of the entirety of his memories. She folded, re-folded and concealed everything in his memories, back down to and including his childhood. It took time to be thorough, but she succeeded in rendering him a complete amnesiac. 

Not content with that, she began to systematically sever and then burn broad swathes of his neural connections. She was not satisfied until he was reduced to a comatose vegetable, incapable of conscious thought or motion, let alone ever again being capable of seeing to his own basic needs.

She collected a saw from an adjacent workbench. The same efficiently smooth motions used to bind him were used to remove his right hand at the wrist. She was careful to keep the blood spray directed away from her. 

She moved through Nott Hall carrying his severed hand, using it and the passcodes she’d stripped from his mind to access his stores of backup plans and notes. Some lamp oil and a match reduced them, and the paperwork in the workshop, to ash. She drenched the resulting ash in alcohol and then flushed the remnant down a drain to prevent them from ever being reconstituted.

Hours later, after setting up a ward scheme with pre-prepared rune stones throughout the Hall, she released Draco’s feet from the cuffs and removed the ball gag and hood. She kept his hands cuffed behind his back. His eyes widened in consternation when he saw her standing over Nott’s drooling body and the severed hand laying next to him.

“Please pay attention, Draco,” she instructed in a calm, level voice. Her tone did not fluctuate even as she used a hammer to methodically smash the prototype time turner into scrap.

“In a few moments, I’ll escort you back to Nott’s floo and push you through to Malfoy Manor. I’ll be going elsewhere, or should I say, elsewhen. You will be staying here and taking care of your son. Do you understand?”

He struggled to his feet. She quietly moved to the side of the work bench, making sure there was something of a barrier between the two of them in case he became aggressive.

“What have you done?” he demanded in a raspy voice. He was unsteady on his feet. Good. He was not yet entirely clear of the effects of the Sleeping Draught. It would make it easier to abandon him to share in Nott’s fate if he resisted.

She leveled her dispassionate gaze upon him. “I’ve done what is necessary. Your plan is good but you are not adequate to the task you’ve set yourself. You are barely adequate to meet the basic needs of a teenage boy. I, on the other hand, am ideally suited to complete your plan.”

For all his faults, Draco was not a complete coward. His eyes were fierce as he looked between his comatose friend and her. “And Nott?” 

“Was a monster. Later, you can dig up the manor grounds if you don’t believe me. I recommend starting at the base of the old willow near the stream. Regardless, I would have done the same even if he wasn’t. I won’t have anyone pursuing me back into time, trying to prevent me from saving Astoria. Something you should have considered but lacked either the foresight or nerve to deal with,” she responded clinically. 

He flinched at her dispassionate accusation. A distant part of her wondered if he suspected Nott’s proclivities but ignored them because he was useful. 

She looked at the mechanical watch on her wrist. It was almost time. Since it didn’t look like he would try to attack her, she moved and took Draco’s arm.

“We have to go,” she coldly advised as she pulled him along. “I’ve set up a runic array to trigger in about ten minutes. It’ll burn with something approaching the heat of Fiendfyre. We don’t want to be here when it does.”

He looked confused as he followed unresisting in her wake. “What did you do to Nott, then?” he asked, pointing his chin at his soon to be former friend’s body. His chest was noticeably rising and falling despite his unconscious state.

She scowled. Really, how did he make it into Slytherin. “Nothing you can prove, Draco.”’ Seeing his perturbed look, she decided to impart one last lesson. “You should never have just one plan, Draco. There should always be at least one back up, and contemplation of potential contingencies. For example, if aurors were to arrive or a house-elf pops in to rescue him, he’d still be worthless to them. If I were captured, I’d avoid a murder charge, and perhaps all charges, as you saw me do nothing. Worse case, he survives but will never be able to recreate the time turner, or even tell them what I’ve done or will do.”

“And you trust me,” he stated questioningly as they arrived at Nott’s floo. 

“No, I don’t,” she admitted. “But you aren’t capable of recreating Nott’s work. And I know you want me to succeed. In the new future I intend to create, maybe you’ll win over an Astoria free of the blood malediction. So you’ll keep my secrets because you have no other choice, if you want her to live.”

She took a pinch of floo powder and prepared to throw it in when he spoke again. His grey eyes were clearer than she remembered them being in a long time. “Thank you, Daphne.” He leaned into her in an effort to give her an awkward pseudo-hug. “Good luck.”

She suppressed a sneer. Draco’s need for emotional attachment and reinforcement would never change. She kept her thoughts off her face. 

“I appreciate the thought, Draco. Get cleaned up and take care of yourself. You need to be a proper role model for Scorpius,” she responded, injecting just a hint of a warmth she did not feel into her voice. If a bit of acting would encourage him to play his role, she could pretend for a few moments.

When he nodded, she tucked his wand into his robe’s pocket and called out “Malfoy Manor” as she pushed him into the floo. He vanished in a flash of green light.

She straightened her hair and summer dress before taking another pinch of floo powder and called out “King’s Cross Station”. She stepped into the green fire and vanished. 

Minutes later an inferno ignited. Nott Hall, an ancient dwelling which had seen centuries, was reduced to ash not long thereafter.

Daphne was not there to see it. When she arrived at the empty platform 9 ¾, she immediately left and mingled with the muggle crowd before hailing a cab. It was unlikely she was being followed or tracked, but better safe than sorry. Most magicals would lose the trail once she resorted to muggle transport. 

It didn’t take long until she arrived outside the Leaky Cauldron and from there the International Portkey Office where she had reserved a pre-paid portkey. Once activated, she arrived in a secluded meadow near a small village just outside Florence, Italy.

She retrieved the time turner from her bag. She steadied herself herself and mediated a few moments to calm her heart. There was no need to become excited. The arithmancy and rune work was excellent. There was little risk. This would work, she reassured herself, trying to feel confident. 

It took a mere moment to set the time turner for January 1, 1981. She vanished in a rainbow of light.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter. Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling. This fanfiction is for writing practice only and no money will be made. 

The Greengrass Boy  
Chapter Three

The world went white. It felt as if she was being torn apart and pulled at an insane speed down a tunnel. Multi-color lights sped by. Her consciousness expanded and contracted. Then there was green and she was on the ground, head spinning, breathless and vomiting. 

Her body and magic had never before felt so stressed. She tried to draw air into her lungs at the same time her stomach tried to empty its contents. She choked.

Dimly she heard a voice reminding herself to put her shields up. The curse that wrapped around her very soul pulsed and contracted. It was vociferous. It squeezed, trying to devour her life. Blinking her eyes rapidly, she tried to clear the pinpricks of light blinding her.

Somewhere deep inside of her a voice was shouting- Don’t panic! Breathe! She complied out of force of long habit, if nothing else.

She managed to clear her stomach and open her lungs. She rolled flat in her back, gasping, trying to find her mental center. Focus on breathing, she reminded herself. In and out. One, two, three. Her senses gradually stabilized. 

Slowly she found her mental and emotional balance. The poisonous viper that was her curse settled and went quiescent. She knew she’d lost years from her life. 

“I am not doing that again,” she muttered quietly to herself as she slowly sat up.

Taking several deep breaths, she took in her surroundings. She was in the same tree-lined meadow, but there were some obvious changes.

The heavy brush that had surrounded the trees was missing. This version of the meadow had seen some maintenance, she observed. A line of juvenile cypress trees stood where she had only moments earlier seen mature trees. 

She felt a quick thrill of excitement which she immediately quashed. The time turner looked to have worked.

Standing shakily, she moved in the direction of the rising sun, breaking the tree line. In the distance, toward her right, she observed a small village nestled in the valley below. Smoke was coming from the occasional chimney as the residents began to stir.

To her left, and much closer, was what appeared to be a farmhouse. Chickens wandered an open yard. A barn and outbuildings stood close by the house, all of which were contained within a low stone wall. A small vineyard surrounded the buildings, bordered by irrigation ditches. A narrow gravel lane connected to the road leading to the village.

In her time, the farmhouse and outbuildings had been dilapidated and stood derelict. The low stone wall was largely missing as neighbors took the flat river rock for their own projects. Now, while they were still worn and recent maintenance was obviously sorely lacking, they were not the falling down hovels of almost forty years in the future.

She allowed herself a small smile. She was exactly where she was supposed to be. Nott really had been a true genius. It was unfortunate he’d been so depraved. Vaguely, she wondered what he’d experienced to put him on such a dark path before dismissing it as unimportant.

As she approached the farmhouse she was intercepted by an elderly man. His formerly blond hair was cut short and was well into the grey. His posture was stooped, his face lined. He had a basket of grain in one arm as the other cast the feed to the chickens, who were swarming around his feet.

“Can I help you miss?” he asked guardedly in perfect, native Italian. Grief lines marred an otherwise handsome face. 

“I’m Daphne Greengrass,” she replied pleasantly in the same language, forcing a bright smile. “Am I speaking to Arthur Greengrass?” 

She saw him relax. “Indeed. It’s been a long while since we’ve had visitors.”

She kept smiling. “I’m traveling the world. To justify the expense to my father, I’m meeting with family members to give him an update . . .”. At that moment his eyes fully met hers and she struck.

Her probe was far more gentle than she had employed against Nott. Arthur was family after all. However, it was no less overwhelmingly invasive.

He demonstrated some familiarity with Occlumency as he desperately tried to raise a shield. He was too late. She quickly Confounded him, planting pre-planned mental suggestions and triggers. 

Her research paid off as many of the stressors and heartaches she’d anticipated were present. He and his wife were existing day to day in a state of deep depression. They mourned the loss of their daughter to the same malediction that claimed Astoria’s life and the loss of their only other child, a son, a mere year later to a drunken muggle driver as he crossed a road in Rome. 

It was the work of a moment to take advantage of his fervent dream, which was pure fantasy, that their children lived. While slapdash and temporary, her suggestions served its immediate purpose, mostly as he wanted it to be true.

“Daphne, is that you?” Tears lined his face and his heart broken voice cracked. She moved and embraced him, which he desperately returned.

“Of course, papa,” she responded, trying to ignore the pressure of his fierce hug. She disliked physical contact but she had to play the role. “I’ve missed you. Is mama up?”

“Yes,” he responded weeping. “Thea! Thea! Daphne’s home!” He yelled out with excitement as he released her. 

Taking her arm he dragged her toward the farmhouse’s kitchen just as a woman in a faded calico dress stepped out. She was wiping her hands on an apron and looked at her husband with some confusion.

“Who is Daphne, dear?” she asked, her voice pleasantly soft. 

Like her husband, her dark hair was almost entirely grey and her face lined with grief, though she had just a bit more brightness in her eyes than her husband, Arthur. This was a woman clinging desperately to the hope that the world was not the grim, dreary place it had proved to be in later years of her life.

Thea Greengrass had no skill at Occlumency whatsoever. While Arthur had been a decently powered wizard in his youth, Thea was a near squib. Arthur and Thea had been truly in love. He’d disregarded the family’s wishes when he married her. He hadn’t cared. It was one reason her father’s distant cousin had left Britain after Grindlewald’s War and settled in Italy. 

He’d been provided a meager inheritance which he used to purchase the farmhouse and ten acres of surrounding vineyards. Arthur and Thea had lived quietly but comfortably, happy with each other and their children. They were content to be disregarded by the wider family; a disregard they fully reciprocated. 

When their children passed, something in each of them died also. They neglected their vineyard and finances. They neglected themselves. They spent the day going through the motions, waiting for death to claim them. Daphne knew that each would be dead within two years, first Arthur and then a few months later, Thea. 

It wouldn’t be until a few years after Thea’s passing that the Greengrass clan would realize this forgotten branch of the family had breathed its last. Cyrus only became aware of their passing when Gringotts forwarded delinquent tax notices to him, as Head of House. Her father had quickly claimed the farm and their meager vault, and rented out the land. He refused to invest in maintenance on the buildings, as he saw no reasonable likelihood of any return on that investment.

Daphne’s probe was not even noticed, let alone contested. She quickly stroked the sleep center of Thea’s mind, causing her to slump into unconsciousness. Arthur leapt forward to catch her, looking panicked.

“It’s alright, papa,” she murmured reassuringly, placing a light hand on his shoulder as he supported his wife. “It’s just the excitement of the moment. Let’s get her into the kitchen so she can rest.”

He readily agreed, picking up his wife and carrying her into the house. She followed behind. Looking back out with hard eyes one last time to make sure they’d not been observed, she closed the kitchen door behind them. 

TGB

Daphne kept the elder Greengrasses indoors for nearly two months. She’d visited the neighboring village once to arrange for the regular delivery of supplies, but otherwise avoided contact with the outside world.

She took the time to ensure the thorough, but relatively gentle, memory modifications of her now mother and father. Targeted oblivations were used to remove the knowledge of their daughter’s death. The obliviated memory received a mild overwrite. Instead of death, their daughter had been traveling the world for a few years. The grief attributed to her death was instead redirected toward her absence. To the greatest degree possible, she took the memory of their actual emotions and integrated them with the implanted memories to make what was false seem real.

Daphne had been a precocious child. Magically gifted, she was prone to frequent bouts of accidental magic. Each occurrence posed a risk that her curse would trigger. Her father had shown considerable foresight when he’d hired a tutor to teach her Occlumency after her eighth birthday.

She’d taken to it like a duck to water. She knew she’d never be able to duplicate the great feats of magic that her non-cursed peers would. Instead, she focused on mastering the more subtle, less magically and life draining, arts. 

By the time she had completed her OWLs, she was a master Occlumens. Her dispassionate demeanor had earned her the well deserved sobriquet “Ice Queen”. It was not long thereafter that she mastered Legilimency, which neatly dovetailed with her burgeoning skill with memory charms, compulsions, obliviations, and confoundment. She had put these skills to full use protecting herself and her sister from students in the snake pit known as Slytherin House. 

It was common knowledge that Draco Malfoy ruled Slytherin during his school years. Common knowledge was wrong. Daphne ruled, though she allowed Draco the semblance of authority. Which suited Daphne. 

If Daphne could have done so without Astoria’s detecting her handiwork, she’d have compelled Draco to throw himself off the Astronomy Tower. Unfortunately, while Astoria’s ability in the Mind Arts were nowhere near as developed as Daphne’s, they were more than sufficient to detect any significant tampering with Draco’s mind.

She’d grown further in skill as the years progressed, despite her post-NEWT focus on potions, runes and arithmancy. She prided herself that she had grown to rival Professor Snape’s abilities, though she recognized she had no means to verify that opinion.

One of the advantages of the Mind Arts was that it required relatively little magical power to use effectively. Even a squib could learn the basics of Occlumency, though it would take more time and patience than for a normal witch or wizard. 

The downside of the Mind Arts is they were difficult to master. Occluding a mind was relatively easy for most witches and wizards, all it took was time and patience. It was much harder to enter a mind. It was harder yet to obliviate a memory, and even harder to modify a mind, a task made even more difficult if the goal was to do so without damaging the victim. A healthy mind was resilient and flexible, but had a tendency to spring back to true unless precautions were taken. Those precautions could prove harmful or, even if not, leave clues as to the tampering.

Regardless, after many weeks she was fairly certain that her modification of Arthur and Thea’s memories were irreversible and virtually undetectable. There was a reason that memories could not be used in wizarding legal proceedings. That reason was the existence of a small handful of witches and wizards like Daphne, who could literally make a counterfeit memory seem genuine.

“Pass the butter, Daphne dear,” Thea said as she gazed lovingly at her daughter. Daphne complied with a smile, as she gently squeezed her mother’s hand. 

Having breakfast at sunrise was a recurring ritual for the Greengrass family. Tea, toast and a hard boiled egg were the typical breakfast they enjoyed together as they watched the sun lift itself above the horizon.

Daphne had been reinforcing the family relationship constantly by word and deed. She could influence their minds, but they needed real in person, physical contact to make it seem real. That was another reason for her self-imposed isolation. She needed time to ensure that their implanted memories meshed as much as possible with their current reality.

Daphne had many reasons to target this branch of the Greengrass family. Their isolation was the primary reason, but there were others. 

Another important consideration was the death of their daughter, Althaia Daphne Greengrass, at age thirty-two. It would be greatly beneficial to Daphne to step into the shoes of an existing adult, one that was only a few years younger than her actual biological age, then trying to create a new identity. 

Daphne would have had difficulty inserting OWL and NEWT scores into Ministry records. That problem was avoided by assuming Althaia’s identity. Thankfully, Althaia’s scores were respectable and would not prove an impediment to Daphne’s plans.

Rather than manufacture an existence out of whole cloth, all she had to do was erase the few bits of evidence of Althaia’s death. This branch of the Greengrass family primarily existed in the muggle world. All she needed to do was confound a muggle or two across a handful of government and medical departments to destroy any evidence of Althaia’s final illness, death and burial.

It was only a minor, but convenient, consideration that they shared the name Daphne. Not for the first time, she was thankful for the Greengrass tradition of giving the girls born into the family Greek names. The pool of names was not vast and they tended to repeat from one generation to the next.

It didn’t take much to convince her parents that she preferred to go by her middle name. Better, she could ditch that horrific middle name ‘Queenie’ that her birth parents had attached to her.

“Mama, papa, I’m going to have to travel for a few days,” she offered quietly. She gave her mother’s hand a small squeeze when she tensed.

“You just returned home, dear,” she protested in a small, distressed voice. Daphne had learned that Thea Greengrass never raised her voice. If she was stressed or angry, she instead became quieter, not louder.

“Surely you can stay just a little longer,” Arthur added with a concerned frown. Like his wife, Arthur was a quiet man. He had no temper to speak of. When stressed he’d raise the issue once. If it did not resolve to his satisfaction, he’d retreat to the barn until his temper cooled.

“It will only be for a few days,” Daphne said, gently rubbing her thumb along the back of Thea’s hand, while giving her father an apologetic smile. “I need to collect my daughter from her father. His visitation is coming to an end.”

Both the elder Greengrasses broke into a smile. One of the memories she’d implanted was of a series of letters she’d written advising her parents of first her daughter’s birth, and then her son’s. Daphne had actually written a half dozen or so letters a few days after arriving, and then had them read them. The only tampering she’d done was push back the timing and create mental space between each letter within her parents’ memories of reading them. Mixing truth with illusion was far more effective than pure illusion.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Thea beamed as she stood up and bustled around the kitchen. Her daughter coming back into her life had reignited the pride she’d formerly took in her kitchen skills. 

The depression the Greengrasses had suffered from seemed to have lifted with Daphne coming into their lives. Daphne wondered if the love the Greengrasses were now feeling, even if a lie, would prolong their lives past what they’d enjoyed before her use of the time turner. 

Arthur took the opportunity to light his pipe at the kitchen table, something Daphne knew Thea had forbidden, but he appeared to delight at flaunting her prohibition at every available opportunity. When he was invariably caught, she’d frown, he’d pout and then remove himself like a naughty schoolboy. 

Daphne presumed that some might find the ritual sweet. It just irritated her, though she concealed it. 

Daphne collected her messenger bag from its place on her feet. “Papa, can you get the letter from Gringotts for me? I’ll stop by and take care of that business on my way back.”

She gave him a kiss on his forehead as he nodded his assent. When he left the room, she allowed herself to be embraced by Thea until he returned. She mediated in her mother’s embrace as she quietly cried, clearly distressed that the daughter they’d just reconnected with was leaving so soon.

“Shush, mama,” she cooed, mimicking Astoria’s mothering of Scorpius. “It’s only for a few days and then you’ll see your granddaughter. A few months later I’ll collect your grandson when he and his father are done travelling.”

Thea looked near tears as she gave her one last hug as her husband returned with a sealed letter for Gringotts. The Greengrasses remembered that they’d written a letter allowing their daughter to access their vaults. So far as it went, that was true. What they no longer remembered, as Daphne had removed that portion of their memory, was they’d actually legally adopted Daphne into their family.

It wasn’t a blood adoption, as almost all the truly powerful rituals used for that purpose required the consent of a parent or guardian to be recognized by magic. That consent could not be magically compelled. Daphne’s tampering with their memories would likely be deemed such a compulsion. 

However, a simple adoption suited Daphne’s purposes. She was already a Greengrass by blood. She saw no need for the more intrusive rituals like she planned for the two infants.

Another round of kisses, with promises to stay safe and return quickly, then Daphne left. She couldn’t portkey out until she exited the wards she’d been steadily placing around the property. Though she couldn’t power them instantly like Potter could, she could place the wardstones and feed them a trickle of power. That was enough to allow natural ambient magic in the surrounding area to slowly charge them to full capacity.

At this point, the farmhouse was almost fully protected. There were only a few more wards to set before she thought it as secure as it could possibly be. 

Even the curtilage had anti-muggle, anti-portkey, anti-apparition and alarm wards set. If someone was to test her defenses, she’d rather know about it sooner, rather than later, so she focused on steadily extending the wards further and further from the actual house.

Once she stepped beyond the gate, she double checked the supplies held in her messenger bag. Everything she’d need was there, so she activated the portkey. 

It deposited her behind a small stand of rose bushes in Crawley, England. The sun was just beginning to rise. She was only a block from her target.

She walked briskly down the street in the cool, still winter, not yet summer, air. She found the door she was looking for and smartly rapped on it. Considering the hour, she was surprised when a young, tired looking man answered so promptly. 

“Dr. Daniel Granger, I presume?” She smiled as he nodded in half awake affirmation. A baby was crying in the background. In his exhausted state he didn’t react when she sprayed him with her perfume bottle.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter. Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling. This fanfiction is for writing practice only and no money will be made. 

Trigger Warning: Reference to torture and kidnap. Please be aware that even though there is no graphic torture (it’s more akin to violence), it may be distressing to read about even if it’s presented only as a matter of abstract thought and action.

AN: This was a hard chapter to write. I wrote about six versions before I threw in the towel and settled for this.

The Greengrass Boy  
Chapter Four

Dealing with the Grangers was both difficult and heartbreaking. It hadn’t proven difficult to subdue the parents. In a matter of minutes they were secured as well as Nott and Draco had ever been.

The child was another thing entirely.

She’d heard Granger crying but needed another hour or two to prepare matters. Then she remembered that Scorpius had taken to climbing out of his crib around this age and so went to check.

Sure enough, the eighteen month old had managed to clamber out of her crib. When Daphne opened the door, she was sitting just inside the threshold looking disgruntled. The height of the door knob had apparently defeated her efforts to manipulate it.

“You should be in your crib,” Daphne gently chided.

Granger’s lip quivered. “No. You bad.” She pointed her finger accusingly at her, her checks brightening in anger.

Daphne observed the toddler dispassionately. She couldn’t disagree with her. What she was doing was bad. There was no denying it.

Her biggest concern at the moment was not her relative wickedness, it was to avoid traumatizing the poor girl to the extent it triggered a bout of accidental magic. She was too young for that to be a real possibility, but Granger had been a strong witch. Better safe than sorry. 

Then she wondered if the girl was somehow sensing what she’d done to her parents. That didn’t bode well. Better safe than sorry, she thought again, sighing to herself. Time for some truth and for some deceit.

She sat down before the girl. “Yes. I am bad,” she agreed. “I’m sorry.”

That surprised the toddler. “You sorry?”

“Yes, sorry,” she repeated. 

Granger shifted. Daphne’s nose wrinkled. The girl was in diapers and they needed changed. 

“You help mummy? Daddy?”

“Yes,” she agreed again, lying. She was relieved to see Granger’s reddening cheeks recede. She absently noted that she had confirmation that Granger knew something was wrong.

She stood and held out her hand. Granger refused to take it, apparently not trusting Daphne despite her assurances. Smart girl, Daphne thought.

She did follow behind Daphne as she left the room. That allowed Daphne to access her perfume bottle without being observed. When she turned the corner, a quick puff caused the child to collapse.

Daphne inspected her bottle. Less than half left. She sighed again. What kind of witch was she that she had to trick infants and ambush muggles? 

She had to suppress her irritation at her own helplessness. Getting upset would serve no purpose. Deal with what is, not what you wish it to be, she reminded herself as she monitored her breathing.

She took Granger back to her room and changed her diaper. Once she was clean, she laid her back on the floor. She didn’t want her to be hurt if she woke and tried climbing out of the crib again.

She inspected the room and made sure there was nothing dangerous within reach of the little girl. Nothing was. The Grangers were far too good of parents.

This time when she left the room, she whispered a soft, “Colloportus.” The first year spell locked the door securely behind her. Given enough time, she was sure the little one would figure out a way around that door knob. She thought it better to be prepared for that eventuality.

While Daphne’s magical strength was well above average, it was a sad fact that most spells beyond second year, third year at the most, risked triggering her curse. She resented it. She still struggled to come to terms with that resentment and so normally avoided the use of her wand entirely.

She smiled bitterly. An eighteen month old witch had forced her to use wanded magic. Soon, she promised herself, she’d save Astoria and then, maybe, she’d save herself.

With the headache known as Hermione Granger resolved, she double checked the parents’ bindings and ensured their blindfolds remained secure. She spent the next couple of hours preparing the ritual circle in the Grangers’ kitchen. 

First, she made sure that the floor was free of contaminants. That was easy enough; the Granger home was spotless. 

Then she arranged the symbolic objects of death, rebirth, growth, and family in their required positions. She took meticulous care to ensure the spacing and sequencing was correct. 

Too many witches and wizards were slapdash in their use of rituals. They believed intent mattered the most, that corners could be cut if only they brought enough strength of will and focus to bear.

They were right about the relative importance of intent. They were utterly wrong about the ability to exchange meticulous attention for detail with pumping more will into the ritual. 

Details mattered. Their failure to pay attention to such details meant their rituals failed more often than not, resulting in fewer witches and wizards learning ritual magic. They claimed the magic didn’t work for them, that they lacked the talent. In truth, they lacked patience and preferred to wiggle a wand about. 

She knew the positioning between the phoenix feather, the thestral hair, and the other sacrificial objects had to be precise. Otherwise, all she’d achieve was a pretty, multi-colored light show, at best.

As she worked, Daphne had to take frequent breaks to center herself, to mediate and find her inner balance. She knew what she was doing was wrong, evil even. It could, perhaps, be justified by applying utilitarian ethics, but that was the refuge of deceivers and scoundrels. While she would lie to others, Daphne refused to lie to herself.

When complete, she gave the circle a small infusion of magic causing it to brighten momentarily. She had been careful to ensure the Grangers could not see the circle activate. 

From what she’d read of them, they were both intelligent, creative and open minded. If enough magic had been on display in the creation of the circle, then they’d be alerted to the possibility that there might be real consequences associated with the words they were to speak and the blood they were to give. 

That possibility might have lent fuel their resistance. Daniel and Emma Granger were reportedly devoted parents. Their love for their daughter was strong. They would not break easily. But they would break. Anyone would, really, if subjected to enough abuse. It was only a matter of when, not if. 

She hoped to avoid all of that. It was bad enough that she was stealing their daughter. She didn’t want to add torture to her list of many sins if she could avoid it. Trickery and deceit would serve, though she might have to resort to some violence before the day was through.

As it was, from their perspective she was a madwoman who’d invaded their home. They should be primed to say or do anything to get her out.

Before removing their hoods, she placed a mask over her own face. Neither of the muggles would recognize her when she was done, so a mask was not strictly necessary. But a seeming effort to conceal her identity might better convince them that they and their daughter would survive if they cooperated. 

After that it was a simple matter to play off their fear and love for each other. Some moderate pain was inflicted to reinforce the gravity of their situation. She threatened the wife to win the husband’s cooperation. Then she threatened the husband to win the wife’s cooperation. 

It was right out of the Death Eater playbook. And it worked.

They’d dutifully repeated the required words as they bled. When she was done, she had two small silver basins filled with their blood, extracted by non-magical means. There had been hate, anger, fear and despair in their voices as they spoke, but they clung to hope and cooperated.

Daphne was grateful that the ritualistic phrases they had repeated were in Ancient Greek. Otherwise they would have realized that she intended to claim their daughter as her own. They most definitely would have resisted.

Magic would not recognize a blood adoption that was magically coerced. It did, however, recognize blood adoptions which were compelled or brought about by more mundane means. 

Many people felt compelled to give up their children. Whether it was their inability to provide for them, illness, the chance for them to have a better life, or any number of other reasons, they rarely surrendered their rights without some reservation. Magic didn’t care why a parent gave consent, so long as magic was not employed to compel it.

The rest of the blood adoption was simple. The Grangers’ blood, and some of her own, was used to paint runes around the ritual circle. She retrieved the sleeping girl, stripped her, and placed her in the center. She painted runes across the child’s body. Daphne’s blood and her parents’ blood mingled and formed the required links to enable the proper substitution of one for the other.

After that, all it took was another tendril of power to activate the dormant circle. The magic coursing into her caused the infant to shriek in pain, but Daphne blocked out the sounds and continued with the chant. The circle would contain any outburst of accidental magic.

The shrieking came to an end soon enough. With a snap of power, she felt the connection form between herself and the girl. Hermione Granger had just become Hermione Greengrass, the magically recognized, blood adopted daughter of Daphne Greengrass.

A side effect of all the shrieking was that Daniel and Emma had desperately rolled across the house trying to reach their daughter, she observed with some disappointment. They’d made little progress, of course. Their restraints were far too extensive for any significant movement.

But it was sloppy. Inefficient. It was unlike her. She should have been better prepared. At a minimum she should have ensured they were unconscious and out of the room.

Once the adoption was complete, and the use of magic less of a concern, she put Hermione back to sleep. She took a few minutes to find her balance and reminded herself why she was doing this.

Saving Astoria was her priority. That required Potter. But in preparing to take Potter, she’d realized she had a golden opportunity to save the wizarding world. In addition to accessing the horcrux in Potter’s scar, she could mold Granger into the leader needed to clean up the cesspit that was wizarding Britain. 

Granger had shown she had the ability in her past life; she’d only lacked the proper foundation. Daphne would supply the foundation in this one. Potter had lacked the motivation; he’d relegated himself to the role of a soldier and contented himself with following Granger’s lead. She’d try to motivate him in this one.

Daphne hoped that hundreds, if not thousands, of lives could be saved. Perhaps the attraction of pure blood supremacy could even be lessened with a leader like Granger leading the way. But purebloods would not be led by a muggleborn; they wouldn't even listen. Granger’s pureblood credentials had to be impeccable if pureblood society would accept her as their leader in truth.

Even with Potter at her side, she’d only managed to cow them. Potter’s strength as a wizard could not be denied. Even the most committed supremacist was not foolish enough to challenge him. Unlike Voldemort, he was rational. Unlike Dumbledore, he would kill if pressed, however reluctantly.

From pureblood society’s perspective, the better plan was to knuckle under and wait. Their culture had survived hundreds of years. It could survive a generation or two under a Granger/Potter regime. When they retired, when they passed on, and the muggleborn lost the protection their power afforded them, they’d take back what was theirs.

Daphne had thought about warning them. But it would have changed nothing. Granger placed too much focus on passing laws; never comprehending that those same laws could be repealed under a new regime. Potter focused only on lawbreakers; never understanding that there were evil men who never acted if they might be caught. 

Neither was equipped to win the hearts and minds of pureblood society. The only change her warning would have achieved would be for pureblood doors to close to her; doors she’d needed open to have access to their libraries and the magic necessary to discover a cure for Astoria.

None of that changed that Daphne had committed, and would commit, willful and knowing acts of evil. She recognized, at best, that she had a mere explanation for what she had done. She had no excuse.

She’d murdered Nott, and knew it might be necessary to murder again. She was a mind rapist, and knew she would certainly be one again. She was a kidnapper and would be again if her plans for Potter came to fruition. She would commit any crime, engage in any deed, no matter how despicable, to save Astoria.

Besides, taking Granger served as a good test run for when she took Potter. He was the more valuable target and was necessary for dealing with the Dark Lord. He’d have more protections. She could afford fewer mistakes.

She packed Hermione’s bags. It only took a few minutes to prepare her to leave.

Once she was ready to go, she extensively modified the Grangers’ memories. All memory of Hermione was erased. All physical reminders of her in the Granger household were removed. She planted suggestions to ensure that their minds would gloss over anything she missed; they’d simply refuse to hear or see it. To minimize the prospect of future complications, she planted a compulsion in each of them to change their names and move to Australia.

She’d have to take care of Granger’s surviving grandparents and the sole aunt tomorrow. Fortunately, she didn’t have a large family and it would be easy enough.

The next few weeks passed in a blur. She rubbed her eyes, hoping to wipe away the exhaustion she was feeling, as she considered her next move. 

“Madam,” a voice came through the door. “Madam, I must insist that I speak with you. The child is inconsolable.”

Daphne sighed and counted to ten backward and forward. “Enter.”

Bella was a university age nanny. She’d been hired as a temporary aide so she could tend to Hermione while Daphne took care of the incidentals of erasing the girl’s existence in the muggle world as a Granger by modifying all her records to read Greengrass.

It wasn’t hard. It helped being a witch familiar with muggles. Legilimency supported by a series of compulsions followed by obliviations resulted in her birth records, baptismal records, physician records, NHS records, and other records all being located and identified. 

Daphne systematically used a small, magically insignificant charm, to move about the ink on each of Hermione’s records. The name Granger became Greengrass. The mother’s information was changed to be Daphne’s, not Emma’s. Daniel's information was completely omitted. Daphne intended to add another father at a later date.

She remembered some of the horror stories her obliviator acquaintances had shared about electronic records and the problems they caused with covering up magical incidents. To ensure she was thorough, Daphne tracked down several government data entry clerks. She ensured that what limited electronic records that existed for Hermione were also suitably changed. 

By the time Daphne was done, Hermione Granger had even ceased to exist even in the muggle world. Hermione Greengrass took her place.

Daphne had also taken the opportunity to ensure that her own papers in muggle Britain were in order. The same process worked just as well. Daphne Greengrass remained an Italian citizen, but she now had significant roots in muggle Britain, including houses, both rental and reserved for her personal use, businesses and other investments.

Daphne had been exhausted after the long process. But it was worth it. By the time she was done, no one could dispute that Hermione was the daughter of Daphne Greengrass, a rich heiress, in either the wizarding or muggle worlds.

The only record she couldn’t access was the Hogwarts’ Book of Admittance. But from what she knew of that powerful artifact, it would not allow Hermione’s name to be taken down until she had demonstrated sufficient accidental magic to be accepted. That name should now be Greengrass, so far as magic—and accordingly, the Quill and Book—were concerned. 

Even if Granger had already been taken down, Daphne was reasonably certain that the Quill would correct it to read Greengrass, once the adoption took hold. It was an acceptable risk, she felt. The primary objective was Potter and saving Astoria. That should be accomplished well before their Hogwarts years. If she succeeded there, she could tolerate failure on the secondary objective.

“What is it now, Bella?” 

The young girl looked flustered. “She cries, madam. She cries and does not stop. I do not know what to do.” The girl was wringing her hand in distress as she spoke.

“It’s alright, Bella,” she replied soothingly. “I’m done here. She’ll be happier when we return home.” Daphne thought for a moment. Hermione did not like her and would likely kick up a fuss on the airplane, if she were the sole care provider. “Would you be willing to accompany us on the return trip? I’ll ensure your ticket is round trip and pay a significant bonus. Perhaps you could see a bit of Italy while waiting for a return flight.”

The girl’s face lit up. Daphne was well aware that she was paying a wage significantly higher than what was generally offered for temporary nanny work. But Bella came highly recommended. Daphne strongly suspected that Hermione’s tears would have been of rage, not sadness, but for the tireless efforts of the young girl. She was worth every penny.

“I would love to, madam.” She smoothed her dress, obviously just realizing she looked like a wreck. Hermione was a very demanding toddler. “When do we leave?”

“This evening,” Daphne decided. “I’ll book the flights now.”

She made some phone calls. Her solicitors could handle the rest of what needed to be done before Halloween.

The trip home was uneventful. Bella served her purpose well, even if Hermione made sure to keep the greatest amount of space possible between herself and Daphne. It was becoming obvious that the toddler was stubborn and clung to her grudges. She made sure to keep Bella in her employ until she was able to actually make use of Hermione’s new grandparents.

“Mother, father, I am home,” she announced as she stepped onto the porch, Hermione in Bella’s arms.

Daphne had thought that integrating Hermione into the Greengrass household might take some time. She was wrong.

Her parents loved Hermione Greengrass from the moment their eyes landed on her. When the eighteen month old infant had come into their lives, their eyes lit up with a joy that was surprising to Daphne. They’d stepped into the role of doting grandparents without a moment’s hesitation.

Fortunately, the blood adoption ritual had slightly changed Hermione’s appearance over the last week, making minute changes daily. While there were no significant physical changes, and those small insignificant changes that did occur ensured that Hermione now bore the faintest of resemblances to Daphne. 

There was no change to her warm, chocolate brown eyes. Her wild, bushy brown hair did transition to an almost copper color, though it remained wild and bushy. Both stood in stark contrast to Daphne’s hair and eyes. But there was enough of a change about the cheekbones that they could see what they wanted to see, and that was good enough for Daphne’s purposes.

Besides, it would have been enough to claim that she took after her unnamed father. It had taken some delicate mental suggestions to ensure that they didn’t bring that issue up, as Daphne had not yet settled on who her children’s father would be.

Her parents delighted in comparing Daphne and Hermione, often in ways which were nonsensical. Like her mother, Hermione was showing every sign of being a precocious intelligence. Her speech was advanced, more so than from what she remembered of Scorpius at a similar age. She was even spelling simple words with the aid of her letter blocks. Daphne had to admit, Hermione was perhaps even more intelligent than herself at a similar age.

Even her motor skills were advanced. This surprised Daphne as the Hermione she remembered had never shown any sign of athletic ability. She kicked and tossed the hollow plastic balls she’d been provided to play with an enthusiasm only a toddler could possess. 

Except, maybe, her grandfather. Arthur had taken to playing with her on the porch that wrapped around their farmhouse, while Thea smiled through the kitchen window making pies. Hermione was very fond of blueberry, if the mess she habitually made on her cheeks was any indication. For the first time in years laughter rang out at the Greengrass vineyard. 

“What do you think, Daphne,” he asked, out of breath, having chased Hermione around the porch for about the hundredth time today. “Striker or center midfield?”

Arthur had taken to planning Hermione’s football career, claiming that she was a natural, from the moment she first kicked a small ball. Daphne thought the entire discussion absurd. Who could tell what a child was capable of at such a young age? 

But she was well aware that a healthy mind was best supported by a healthy body. At this point she saw no harm in allowing Arthur his dreams so long as Hermione stayed active. 

Besides, the exercise was having a positive effect on Arthur’s health. His circulation had definitely improved.

“Midfield,” she replied, hiding the roll of her eyes. “Her intelligence would serve her well in that position.” 

Not that she’d ever allow Hermione to play a muggle sport. As she grew she’d need to focus on wizarding culture, including wizarding sports. Being a witch skilled in muggle sports would win her no friends in the wizarding world. Conversely, being a skilled flier or duelist could garner her acclaim. That would prove useful in promoting her political aspirations.

Ludo Bagman had been an idiot of the highest order. He still rose to department head status solely on the strength of his sports career. Imagine what he could have done if he had two brain cells to rub together, Daphne mused.

Regardless of her true intent, he father appeared pleased with her answer. Once he caught his breath, he gave into his granddaughter’s insistent tugs in an effort to get him up and playing again. Hermione didn’t spare a glance for Daphne.

It was just as well. Daphne had to give her attention to translating an ancient Aramaic scroll concerning horcruxes. The writer claimed that he had captured his enemy, a wizard who had created a horcrux in an effort to escape his revenge. It proved his undoing. The victorious wizard had developed a pain array which allowed him to subject his enemy’s soul to tortures far beyond what mere flesh could endure. Daphne thought it might prove useful. 

What to do with Hermione continued to crowd her thoughts. She reluctantly put down the scroll. She needed to consider the problem, and resolve it if she were to maintain balance.

The girl was very aware of her surroundings and the people in them. That had posed a problem.

Hermione still remembered her birth parents, even if the memory was fading. She still loved them. She blamed Daphne, correctly, for taking her away. Even if she now loved papa and mama also, which were her names for Arthur and Thea.

Hermione had accepted Arthur and Thea without question. Her new grandparents had simply overwhelmed the toddler with unconditional love. Daphne was another matter entirely.

She still pointed an accusing finger at her from time to time, saying ‘bad.’ It hurt more than Daphne anticipated.

Daphne remembered her wailing and terrified cries. It took a lot of effort to maintain her balance when those memories came to the forefront. So much so that she had even briefly considered a targeted self-obliviation, which was anathema to an Occlumens of any particular talent.

It was a shame she couldn’t just partially obliviate Hermione. But memory charms used on infants carried the potential for vast harm as so much of who they were was built on the foundations of the first few years of life. 

Daphne reluctantly conceded it was best to let time cure any psychological and emotional wounds she may have suffered. Hermione had no value as a gibbering wreck.

Besides, if need be she could deal with the problem when the girl was older. The potential harm of an obliviation would be greatly reduced once she achieved a solid sense of self, sometime well after her fifth year of life.

It wasn’t all bad. Arthur and Thea had completely taken over childcare duties, which was a blessing. Daphne’s role was minimal, which she knew was optimal under the circumstances. 

Despite her guilt, Daphne was gradually growing more fond of the overly bright and energetic girl. Hermione gradually thawed toward Daphne as the months rolled by, though she remained more distant with her than she’d been to either of the parents she’d lost or the new grandparents she’d acquired.

Daphne appreciated the lowering of hostilities to an uneasy armistice. But the girl was a distraction. She could not afford distractions, as wrapped up as she was with her many projects. She decided to avoid any effort to further improve their relationship for the time being.

Then the morning of October 31 arrived and it was time to execute the next part of her plan.

TGB TGB TGB

AN: I hoped I captured the spirit of Daphne’s character as not necessarily evil, but rather ruthless and amoral.

AN: When an European says football, they mean soccer. Arthur Greengrass has no intention of turning Hermione into an American football player.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter. Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling. This fanfiction is for writing practice only and no money will be made. 

Trigger Warning: Kidnapping. 

The Greengrass Boy  
Chapter Five

Daphne watched the sun dip below the horizon on the evening of November 1, 1981, in Little Whinging, Surrey. The sunset was actually quite pretty, Daphne mused absently as she took a seat looking out the bay window facing towards Number 4 Privet Dr. 

She’d entered the house only after Dumbledore vacated the area. She’d installed a remote viewing security camera system months ago, despite the expense as the technology was not yet common. The cameras were camouflaged and their lenses focused on Number 4. She’d spent the day monitoring the closed circuit feed from London, watching as Dumbledore puttered around burying ward stones and otherwise preparing the defenses of the Dursley residence. 

She marveled at how wizards managed to stay undiscovered considering how out of touch they were with muggle technology. There must be some truth to the persistent rumors that the Ministry had managed to insert trusted squibs and muggleborn into key positions within the muggle law enforcement and security services. 

Dumbledore obviously thought he was blending in. He appeared unaware of the incongruity of wearing a crushed velvet suit while digging up the front and back gardens of Number 4. In his defense, the Dursleys took no notice of him as he wandered their yard, digging holes and burying stones.

She suspected he must have applied a notice-me-not charm to prevent the muggles paying too much attention to him. She thought it only fair that he was unaware of the cameras she’d trained on him all the while.

From what she could see, he’d installed a hostile intent, health monitoring, and fire suppression wards. He was also laying the groundwork for what looked to be potent blood wards. 

That was not unexpected. Granger had attempted a half-hearted exoneration of her beloved Headmaster’s decision to leave Potter with abusive relatives in her history of the war. The wards had featured prominently in her defense. 

It amused her to see actual proof that the leader of the light, the great Albus Dumbledore, was employing magic that most of wizarding Britain would consider dark. It amused her even more that placement with the Dursleys had been unnecessary as the blood wards themselves were unnecessary. Overlapping ward schemes that had a similar effect without resort to blood rituals could have been set up with any number of wizarding families.

No, it was clear to her that Dumbledore’s primary objective was to keep Potter away from the wizarding world. The supposed blood ward explanation was just an excuse, a mere rationalization, to explain his otherwise unexplainable behavior. She more than half suspected he’d left Potter to be abused to keep him humble and hungry for any positive attention. 

Regardless, so far, she’d seen nothing overly concerning in his ward schemes, whether active or passive. Now it was only a matter of waiting.

Bella was sleeping in the master bedroom of Number 3 Privet Dr. It was one of Daphne’s many rental properties. She’d leased it to the part-time university student, part-time nanny for a pittance in preparation for this day. The young muggle would have a long day tomorrow and Daphne wanted to ensure she was well rested.

She was anxious about this evening. Astoria’s fate hung in the balance. Her sister was her world. Everything else paled in importance. She needed Potter and what was in his head.

She took a calming breath as she centered herself again. She had a good plan, she reassured herself. Deception and an appeal to self-interest would carry the day even if magical prowess would not.

Her first plan had been a bad plan, motivated by fear and anxiety. Her first thought had been to ward this property in case of discovery. She’d been sure she could put up a decent defense behind wards if given time to prepare them. She would even have a fair chance of evading capture if Dumbledore noticed. So long as she was free, she might be able to claim Potter at a later date, if her first effort failed.

Pride had prompted a revision to that initial plan. She’d thought to impose an overlapping series of wards around Number 4 designed to counteract and undermine Dumbledore’s wards once triggered. She could even place offensive wards throughout the neighborhood, saturating the area with the equivalent of muggle land mines. 

Between the two, she’d thought she might crack the blood wards and might even have a chance to prevail against a strong wizard if it came to a battle. But even as she’d thought of what she could do, she’d also recognized her arrogance and the danger her hubris posed to her goals.

Eventually, she’d finally managed to master her emotions. Pride, anxiety and fear had given way to rational thought. Her many successes had allowed her pride to grow, almost overwhelming her prudence, in the face of a threat. That would not do, especially when less confrontational options would serve.

She could breach the blood wards, but not without alerting Dumbledore. She would not prevail against Dumbledore in a direct contest, no matter how well prepared she was behind wards, even if she pulled out every single one of her many tricks. She had no chance unless she could ambush him while unaware.

She admitted to herself that an ambush was unlikely to succeed. Logic dictated that there was no concealing any of her magic from Dumbledore. No matter how talented she might be, even if her blood malediction was cured and she had access to her full strength, she was certain he’d sense her magic. 

Even her idea to collect Potter directly from Godric’s Hollow had been discarded as folly. Voldemort, Pettigrew, the Potters, Snape, Hagrid and Black would all be present at one time or the other, if Granger’s interviews of Potter and Hagrid were correct. Each of them dangerous in their own way, each of them a variable that she lacked full knowledge of what they’d do when, as Granger’s history lacked critical details of that evening. It was better not to consider it, especially as she could not remember the exact location of Potter Cottage within the village due to the effects of the Fidelis Charm.

Saving Sirius Black had also been considered. After all, he possessed both wealth and an exceptional pedigree. He’d be an excellent father to name for her children. But she quickly discarded that idea. He was a wild card at the best of times. She had no patience for fools and she needed someone she could control.

Though her pride had argued that she could avoid detection and even prevail by use of delayed triggered ward schemes and a combination of both wizard and muggle mercenaries, her common sense had ultimately prevailed. She’d decided on a different tack, electing to focus on trickery instead of force, and Privet Dr. instead of Godric’s Hollow.

The weakness in Dumbledore’s plan was the Dursleys themselves. They lacked any significant attachment to Potter and feared all things magical. She had every intention of exploiting Dumbledore’s failure to take into account the character of those he was relying on to protect Potter. Or groom, dependent upon one’s point of view.

As a result, there was little magic within Number 3. She’d left her bottle of aerosolized Sleeping Draught, and a variety of other pre-prepared tricks, at her safe house in London. She’d even left her wand behind, carefully concealed at Heathrow Airport. 

Its absence made her feel vulnerable, despite rarely relying on it. While her rational brain knew it would be useless in confronting Dumbledore, it would have been a comfort when meeting the muggles. She didn’t like it, but she buried that feeling of vulnerability deep in her psyche to analyze at a later date.

The only things magical in Number 3 was Daphne and a blood quill. She made sure she kept her Occlumency barriers high. She had the utmost confidence in her abilities with the Mind Arts. She was reasonably certain that she’d remain undetected as long as she remained out of sight and calm. 

Bella might register, but only as a sleeping muggle. As she was a months long occupant of Number 3, Daphne was certain that Dumbledore would find no cause for concern with the Dursley’s young neighbor. 

As to the blood quill, it was a relatively minor magic item. She was confident that it was sufficiently far away from Number 4 that Dumbledore, even with his heightened senses, would not detect it. At least she hoped her doubling of her initial estimate as to how far the Grand Sorcerer's magical senses extended would prove sufficient to avoid detection.

The night passed slowly. Daphne meditated from a location that allowed her to see Number 4 from a slight opening in the drapes. Her mediation also proved beneficial in keeping her body motionless. The human eye was attracted to motion so she willed herself still. It would be embarrassing to be detected by the naked eye after she spent so much effort to erase her magical footprint.

Just before midnight, she saw a cat take position on a low wall to the side of the Dursley’s residence. She recognized it as Professor McGonagall in her animagus form. She kept her senses open but emotions buried still and deep behind her walls.

Just as Granger described, Dumbledore arrived and engaged McGonagall in conversation. They appeared to be having a disagreement. Daphne suspected that the Scotswoman was trying to introduce the elderly wizard to the concept of common sense. As usual, she failed.

Not too much later, Hagrid arrived with Potter on a flying motorcycle. If Daphne had not been deep behind her shields, she would have rolled her eyes. Dumbledore hadn’t even blinked at the violation of the Statute of Secrecy that was occurring before his very eyes.

Her Slytherin classmates had often complained that Dumbledore had three sets of rules. One applied to Slytherins and those he judged as being dark. The second applied to Gryffindors and those he viewed as light. The third applied to himself and were ever changing depending on what benefitted himself the most at any given time.

Daphne had agreed with her classmates then and agreed with them now. She just didn’t see any reason to complain about it. Unless and until some wizard or witch came along who was sufficiently powerful to hold Dumbledore to account, he’d continue with his flexible, self-serving application of the law.

A sense of pride arose within her when she considered that she was well on the way to accomplishing just that. She quickly examined and dismissed the sensation. Patting herself on the back served no purpose just yet. It would be years before her plans came to fruition, if ever.

Finally, a basket was left on the Dursley doorstep just after midnight. First Hagrid and then McGonagall left. Dumbledore walked away, using some contraption to turn off the street lights of Privet Dr. Daphne remained stationary, watching as her eyes adjusted to the dark, for hours after.

She woke Bella an hour before sunrise. The girl was bleary eyed but awake as she followed her across to Number 4. Some minor mental suggestions had temporarily suppressed what would have been the girl’s natural curiosity.

When she reached the front porch, Daphne extended her senses. The only active wards were the hostile intent wards, keyed to Potter, the fire suppression and the health monitoring wards. The intent ward was tied to the residents of the home. The fire suppression was tied to the Dursley residence while the monitoring ward was tied to Potter’s physical health. None of them should be triggered by what she intended to do.

Daphne frowned as she considered the health monitoring wards. Their presence tended to confirm that Dumbledore had samples of Potter’s blood. That meant he could be tracked, at least until his blood changed after the blood adoption ritual.

She calmed herself as she considered the problem. There was a window of only a day where she was at risk. And Bella would be directly handling Potter over that time. If Dumbledore appeared, Bella would take the brunt of his ire. The nanny would not be able to identify her employer once a trigger phrase was spoken. Daphne would be just one of many innocent bystanders. 

She let the anxiety flow through and then out of her mind. Even if she failed today, she’d have other opportunities.

The infant appeared to be sleeping soundly. Daphne dispassionately observed that he looked angelic resting in his basket. He was a far cry from the furtive, scrawny boy she remembered seeing the first day to Hogwarts. 

She was pleased to see the angry red scar on his forehead, partially healed and shaped like a lightning bolt. It was fair to say that what the scar contained was more of a priority than the boy.

Her senses did detect a warming charm on his blanket, in addition to an almost exhausted notice-me-not charm tied to the basket. There was an unknown runic array on the letter resting inside the basket that made her leery. It was waiting to be triggered, likely from breaking the wax seal, Daphne thought.

She quickly removed Potter from the basket and blanket. She avoided touching the letter and dropped his blanket, diaper and baby clothes into Dumbledore’s basket. She re-wrapped him in a new blanket and handed him and a new mundane baby carrier to Bella. 

“Take him to Heathrow. I’ll meet you there. Our flight leaves in three hours,” she commanded as she handed Bella the keys to her sedan. “Don’t dawdle.”

Bella gathered up Potter with care. As Daphne had grown used to seeing, she held the child snugly in the crook of her arm while the carrier was held in her off hand. “Let’s go, little Henri,” Bella crooned as she walked across the street to the waiting sedan. Potter slept the entire time.

Daphne waited until Bella had driven out of sight before knocking on the Dursley door. She’d concealed the old basket and it’s discarded contents behind a row of rose bushes adjacent to the door. 

The blood wards would only activate if triggered. She suspected opening the letter and bringing Potter into the home was the trigger, but couldn’t be certain. Better to be safe and keep everything outside the house.

She was not surprised at the time it took the Dursleys to answer. It was still dark out and they should still be asleep. She hoped that their general drowsiness would help her in what was to come.

Nothing she’d done so far posed any risk to Potter. In fact, from any reasonable person’s perspective she was saving him from a decade and more of misery. If she was successful, he’d benefit massively from the removal of the sliver of Voldemort’s embedded in his scar. Her intentions were nothing but good and positive toward the boy. She was careful to broadcast her good intentions through her shields, just in case she’d misread Dumbledore’s ward scheme and other protections.

She also intended nothing ill toward the Dursleys. If she succeeded, they wouldn’t be harmed in the slightest. One could even make the case that they’d avoid an unwanted child and all the risks associated with housing a child hunted by Death Eaters and Voldemort. Like Potter, the Dursleys only benefited from what she intended.

Eventually, the door was answered. An obese Vernon Dursley stood there clad in a bathrobe and slippers. “What is it?” he barked. He looked at a clock inside the house. “It’s just five a.m. Are you mad?” His face appeared to be turning red.

Daphne stood tall. She was wearing a muggle business suit modeled after one worn by one of her female solicitors. She found it helpful to mirror those fashions worn by muggle professionals with whom she did business. Otherwise, it took too much of her attention trying to stay current with fashions and cultural trends.

“Vernon Dursley, I presume?” She peered at him over her non-prescription glasses. While she’d avoided magic to conceal her appearance, muggle clothing, makeup and glasses, hair dye, and a change from her usual hair style, would serve to distort her true appearance, especially if the memory were viewed through a pensieve or via legilimency. “I’m Dolores Umbridge with Wizarding Child Services. I’m sorry to inform you that your sister in law and her husband have been killed.”

She saw a variety of emotions cross the oafish muggle’s face. The beginnings of anger gave way to shock then to caution, which in turn gave way (to her surprise) to a small amount of regret, before his face settled into a defensive cast. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said impassively. Daphne half suspected it was the look he gave to an employee before letting them go. “But I don’t see what that has to do with me or my family. And I don’t want you or your kind around my house.”

Daphne let a trace of sympathy enter into her voice. “I understand, Mr. Dursley. Truly, I do. But you and your wife are Harry’s natural guardians, despite the child being a wizard, and a strong one at that.” She saw his face take on an obstinate cast as he began to close the door. “But there are alternatives, though it would take your signature and that of your wife to put them in place.”

He hesitated, the door still partially open. “What alternatives?”

“May I come in so we discuss them? It won’t take but a few moments.” She saw a variety of emotions cross his face. “And I think it best we discuss these matters behind closed doors. There’s no reason for the neighborhood to be made privy to family business.”

That seemed to decide it for him. Dursley reluctantly invited her in and offered her a seat at the kitchen table. Petunia Dursley was already up, making tea. Daphne was pleasantly surprised when she was offered a cup. Though somewhat standoffish, the Dursley adults seemed to be much more reasonable than portrayed in Granger’s history.

Petunia broke down into tears when told Lily had been killed the night before. Vernon clumsily attempted to comfort her. If Daphne were the romantic sort, and she wasn’t, she’d view it as charming in an awkward muggle kind of way.

“How?” Petunia finally choked out.

“Wizard terrorists,” Daphne bluntly responded. “James and Lily managed to defeat their leader, but his followers will be looking for revenge against their son.” Seeing their apprehension, she continued as if oblivious, “but the Ministry believes that you’ll be safe at home if we install some wards.” She allowed her face to take a contemplative look. “You will, of course, have to take appropriate cautions outside the house.”

Vernon cut in. “Are we at risk?”

“I can’t say with any certainty, Mr. Dursley. You’d certainly be targets if they were ever to learn that Harry resides with you. Severus Snape was a member of the terror group but we don’t know if he shared your relationship to Lily with his leader. He remains at liberty. If he didn’t, they should have no idea that Lily Evans has a sister or where you live. They should only come across you if they were to look for Harry.” She gave them an apologetic look. “I say this so you can be fully informed of the risk if you decide to take Harry in. But unless you want to trust in the integrity of a terrorist Death Eater, you might want to consider relocating out of the country as soon as possible if you have the means.”

Vernon looked to be turning red again. “Are you telling me that these freaks may come to my house?!”

Daphne spread her hands. “I don’t know,” she repeated. “The chances of discovery are less if Harry is not here but I can’t guarantee that they won’t look for you anyway. It largely depends on Mr. Snape.”

Petunia laid a calming hand on Vernon’s arm. “What are our options?” she asked fretfully.

“You have two. First, you can take Harry in. I’ll check in on you every few months to ensure that the needs of a growing young wizard are being met. I’ll also need you to sign a waiver, holding the Ministry harmless from any damage his accidental magic may cause you or your family.” She placed a written waiver in front of them drafted by her muggle solicitor. The risk and potential injuries described were very graphic. Intentionally so. She was pleased to see both Dursleys stiffen as they reviewed it. 

“Alternatively, you can sign over your rights.” She placed another parchment before them. It was very straightforward. They waived their rights to Harry and consented to his adoption by the holder of the original document, in this case Daphne, without further notice. The wording was stated in both the Queen’s English and then repeated in Ancient Greek as the ritual required. “Young Harry has family on his father’s side who would be willing to provide care, but you are his closest blood relation and they can’t unless you relinquish custody.” 

That wasn’t even a lie, Daphne thought. She just omitted that she wouldn’t be taking Potter to any of his distant cousins. 

To her credit, Petunia hesitated. “Would he be well cared for? I won’t give him up if he won’t be cared for.” Again, Daphne was surprised with the Dursleys’ behavior. Her reading described them as near monsters. 

“Pet,” Vernon butted in. “You can’t be considering this? We have to think about Dudley. Maybe I should accept that transfer to Australia. We can’t give these freaks a reason to track us down.”

“Of course, Mrs. Dursley,” Daphne replied, interjecting some dismay into her voice. “He’s the child of heroes. Your nephew would be well looked after.” She reached into her purse and placed two bundles of stacked pound notes on the table. “If you decide you need to surrender custody of Harry and need to relocate, the Ministry is not unreasonable. This is provided to compensate you for moving expenses.” She pretended to hesitate again. “We’d also need a small blood sample from each of you for medical purposes. It will avoid the need to bother you in the future if some magical malady where to afflict Harry. This is especially important if you intend to move away.”

For once Vernon Dursley’s reaction met her expectations. She could she him mentally estimate the value of the stacked fifty pound notes resting on the table. She smiled inwardly when his eyes widened; it was a lot.

“We need to discuss this privately,” he announced, standing up. “Please enjoy your tea. We’ll be back momentarily.”

She sat there for long minutes. Each time the clock ticked over another minute she felt her muscles relax further. Nothing she’d done so far had triggered Dumbledore’s wards. 

She didn’t have to strain to hear what they considered hushed whispers coming from the other room. Vernon wanted to take the money and run off to Australia. He could take some vacation time and they could leave within the day. Agents could be used to sell their home. They could even change their names via a poll deed. The daft wizards would never track them down. They and Dudley would be safe.

Daphne actually appreciated Vernon’s viewpoint. For an off the cuff plan, it wasn’t half bad. If she was raising Astoria she’d place her needs before any cousin’s. 

Petunia was more hesitant, her lingering loyalty to her sister and distress at her death making her entertain the possibility of taking the boy. But her heart wasn’t in it. Vernon was the more insistent of the two and he eventually prevailed.

They didn’t balk at signing with the blood quill, but Daphne knew a single signature only caused an itch on the back of their hand. She doubted they noticed. Providing a vial of blood by cutting themselves with a silver knife while saying words in Ancient Greek was more of a controversy. Neither liked the fact they were essentially participating in a magical ritual. 

But Vernon acquiesced looking at the thousands of pounds stacked on the table. Petunia did the same thinking it was for Harry’s future healthcare in the magical world.

Technically, only Petunia’s blood was currently necessary, not that it occured to either one of them. But within a few days, Daphne was counting on Sirius being apprehended and sent to Azkaban. Then magic should recognize Vernon as Harry’s nearest effective male guardian as his godfather would not be at liberty to care for him.

Sometimes, Daphne thought magic was almost sentient. Regardless, she had everything she needed from the Dursleys by six a.m. 

The blanket, basket, diaper and clothes, and letter left by Dumbledore were all deposited in the trash bin sitting in the Dursleys’ side yard, well within the existing wards. She then walked several blocks away and retrieved an only somewhat illegal portkey she’d hidden under a loose stone. The portkey was legally issued but under an assumed name and wearing a false face after paying a modest bribe. With a spoken word, her world spun and she arrived in a women’s restroom in Heathrow Airport. 

When she rendezvoused with Potter and Bella, she retrieved her wand, a new blanket and carrier from a locker. Both had been enchanted to block tracking and blood charms, using runes and demiguise hair woven into the fabric to ensure that detection devices would have nothing to lock onto. The previous blanket and carrier was abandoned in the changing room.

If Dumbledore noticed Potter was gone, she wanted him as untraceable as possible until she could get him safely behind Greengrass wards. She knew her wards were strong enough to make it seem like Potter didn’t exist so long as he stayed behind them.

They encountered no difficulties. By the time the day was over, Harry Potter was safe behind the extensive wards of Greengrass Vineyards. He’d stay there until the blood adoption occurred and he became Henri Greengrass. At that time any blood or biological samples Dumbledore may have taken to track young Harry would be rendered worthless.

She wondered how long it would take Dumbledore to notice that his Chosen One was no longer in Little Whinging. Then she pushed it out of her mind as no longer relevant.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: Some reviews/messages asked me why Daphne kidnapped Hermione and Harry. The answer is in the story description. She thinks they are two of the most likely to someday rule wizarding Britain. She wants to either rule through them or, at least, influence their development and, as a consequence, their decision making processes when they are in charge. This is her secondary objective, her primary objective is curing Astoria.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter. Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling. This fanfiction is for writing practice only and no money will be made. 

The Greengrass Boy  
Chapter Six

Albus Dumbledore paced back and forth in his office. His mind was troubled. A combination of self-doubt, self-loathing, anger, frustration, and fear, all cascaded through his thoughts. 

He’d misplaced Harry Potter. He’d suffered a day or two of inattention and the boy had vanished under his nose. 

In his defense, he’d been overwhelmed trying to guide the Ministry in the right direction in the chaotic aftermath following Tom’s defeat. He’d had no time to monitor his devices. He’d been sure that the late hour and the wards he’d activated would have been more than enough to protect Harry while he dealt with more pressing matters.

It was critical the world believe that it was Harry who defeated Voldemort, true or not. James and Lily as dead heroes posed no threat to Tom’s supporters. A very alive Harry, who even as an infant was powerful enough to vanquish their Dark Lord, might cause them to hesitate before causing future difficulties. He would be a rallying cry and, someday, an overwhelming powerful foe of the Dark for many decades to come. He hoped Harry’s mere existence would cause them to pursue a more enlightened path.

Now his manufactured hero had vanished. He mentally kicked himself for the thousandth time. He should have placed multiple watchers around Privet Drive. But if he had done so, he argued with himself, too many would have known where Harry was housed. They may have taken it upon themselves to check up on him. That could not be permitted.

He snorted. His reasoning was good as a matter of theory. As a practical matter, and with the benefit of hindsight, it would have been far preferable that too many know where Harry was placed than Albus to not have any idea at all of the infant’s whereabouts.

So far, despite a month’s worth of intensive effort, despite mobilizing the entire Order and his extensive network of connections, he’d discovered nothing about who took the boy or where. It was like young Harry had vanished off the face of the earth.

He glanced at the collection of silver knick knacks that lined one shelf of his office. Each had a specific task all connected to Harry. None of them were working, with the exception of the devices tasked with tracking Harry’s health and his location.

The blood tracker, a small silver arrow inside a sphere, was slowly spinning in lazy, aimless circles. It worked, Dumbledore knew, but Harry was likely behind significant wards so it couldn’t lock on his location. Otherwise it would be providing him directions and he could have collected Harry in short order.

The other device, a small silver dragon, had for the last month been steadily spewing small puffs of green smoke with the occasional bit of black smoke mixed in. The green smoke told him that Harry was in good physical health. The occasional bit of black smoke had informed him that the soul fragment was still present in Harry’s scar, but safely contained.

Or it had been until yesterday. Yesterday the black smoke disappeared entirely. Now the small silver dragon was contentedly puffing nothing but green smoke.

Dumbledore frowned. He did not know if the remnants of his mother’s blood protection had purged Tom’s soul fragment or if whomever had taken the boy had it removed. Either way, Harry no longer had to endure the taint of even a sliver of Tom’s corrupted soul.

If he had to speculate, he’d guess that it had been destroyed by the remnant of Lily’s love for her son. He’d counted on the blood wards to draw from that protection, thereby weakening it in relation to Harry but at the same time casting it in a wider net to include his aunt and his cousin. As it hadn't weakened, he thought it likely that it had been strong enough to overwhelm Tom’s weak and fragmentary soul piece.

What a waste, he mourned. A soul to soul connection to Tom, especially one he was unaware of, would have produced invaluable clues to aid in keeping abreast of his movements. Still, at least Harry would not have to endure the burden that he’d planned for him, which did make him feel marginally better about the situation.

He stroked his beard as he again second guessed himself. He knew the Dursleys were not the ideal guardians for Harry. He’d go so far as to admit that they would have been terrible guardians. It was certain that Tom’s dark soul, steeped in pain and suffering, would have eventually negatively influenced them against the boy. 

But Harry’s presence in their house would have protected them. He had to believe that Lily would have wanted her sister and nephew to live, even if her son had to suffer somewhat to keep them alive.

Those same muggles he’d tried to save had been in the process of fleeing the country when he’d intercepted them a mere three days after Harry had been placed on their doorstep. A review of their memories established that someone impersonating a low-level Ministry employee had taken Harry. Despite passing a sketch of her around to his many contacts, including the members of the Order, no one recognized the woman.

Dumbledore assumed she had been under the influence of polyjuice when she spoke with the Dursleys. Or perhaps she was immensely talented at human transfiguration. He had no confidence that her identity would be uncovered anytime soon. Assuming it was actually a woman and not a man posing as a woman, which he thought unlikely. 

Regardless, it didn’t change the calculation. The Dursleys were now worthless to him as possible guardians for Harry. The Dursleys had given up their rights to Harry. Worse, they’d given up their blood. 

Dumbledore was well aware of the import of their voluntarily surrendering of their blood and their speaking of the incantation. It allowed whomever had taken Harry to blood adopt the boy. It might even void the blood protection Lily’s sacrifice had provided him. Harry was at tremendous risk because of his relatives’ stupidity, greed and bigotry.

Even so, he’d reluctantly allowed them to leave for Australia under their assumed names. It was the only way he could see to somewhat protect them from their own foolishness. The blood wards he’d set up certainly would no longer work. Tom’s followers would be looking for revenge. Helpless muggles like the Dursleys, closely related to the witch who had brought their lord low, would be an attractively safe target for their vengeance.

He looked worriedly at the small silver dragon. Once the blood adoption ritual was complete, then even that device would cease working as Harry’s blood would no longer be the same.

He breathed deeply, calming himself. He heard Fawkes’ distant song, reassuring him that all was well, all difficulties could be overcome. The Light would prevail. All it would take is more work than he’d originally intended.

He sat at his desk and thought, letting Fawkes soothing song send him into a meditative trance. He was not entirely without information as he mentally reviewed the Dursley’s memories. The person who had taken Harry was entirely too comfortable in her body, which suggested that her gender, and approximate age, height and weight, were the same. The rest of it was likely mere fabrication, so he could possibly exclude the glasses, eye and hair color. 

The woman was obviously familiar with the British Ministry and its employees. She wasn’t a muggle or a foreign witch. She had extensive knowledge of blood and ritual magic, as the incantation used to collect the blood was part of an extremely powerful but esoteric ritual. Only a true master would be familiar with it.

She’d avoided triggering his wards. That indicated she likely had at least some moderate knowledge of wards and how to detect and avoid them. It also established that she meant Harry no harm, which was supported by the puffs of green smoke that the dragon continued to emit. So he could reasonably exclude Death Eaters and their supporters from the list of likely candidates.

She was also either very lucky or knew exactly when and where Harry would appear on his aunt’s doorstep. That meant that either Minerva or Hagrid had spoken to someone when they shouldn’t have, or he was the victim of happenstance. That a witch with a well developed understanding of ward, blood and ritual magic just happened to walk past the Dursley residence after midnight defied belief. 

He realized with a small, rising hope, that he did have a starting point from which he could identify Harry’s abductor. Not all was lost.

He sighed. He’d have to keep a closer eye on Hagrid and Minerva. He trusted them but it was much more likely they’d slipped up. The only question was whether their betrayal was intentional or inadvertent.

If he had to guess, Hagrid was the culprit. His groundskeeper had great difficulty keeping secrets. He should know. He’d often used the naive half-giant to pass on information ‘accidentally’ when he wanted it spread about. 

He’d have to gently question him to resolve the possibility. He truly hoped it was merely a matter of Hagrid speaking of what he should not have while deep in his cups.

That Minerva had acted against him didn’t bear contemplating. His transfiguration professor, deputy head, and former apprentice was a formidable witch. It would be a disaster if she placed herself in opposition to him. 

With a sense of deepening dread, he realized that Minerva very much fit the profile of the witch who had taken Harry. She’d also objected to leaving him with the Dursleys, he remembered. She had motive, method and opportunity, as muggle detectives liked to say. 

He groaned as he poured himself a drink. He did not like his chances of sneaking past her Occlumency shields. He’d have to tread carefully. Maybe he could organize a celebratory staff party? If she was sufficiently intoxicated he thought he might be able to sneak a peek into her mind. He resolved to supply several bottles of an exceptionally fine Scotch to encourage the possibility that her barriers would be lowered.

Dumbledore was deep in contemplation when the silver dragon stopped puffing smoke. The arrow slowly became still. When he eventually noticed, he covered his face with his hands and mourned the lost opportunities. 

Harry was either dead or adopted. He hoped it was the latter. In any event, the boy was beyond his reach, at least for the moment.

He sighed. The Ministry would have questions. He could not give truthful answers without enormous damage to his position.

It was only a few minutes of thought before a possible alternative presented itself. He only needed to locate a dark haired, green eyed muggleborn of similar age, preferably foreign, and from a family that could be easily dealt with. The world was a wide place, full of possibilities. Surely there would be a number of likely candidates. 

He nodded decisively. Harry Potter was alive. Until he could be located, a double would be groomed to play the role. Between his knowledge of alchemy and that portion of Harry’s blood he still had available, the substitution should be virtually undetectable.

It benefited everyone, really, while still serving the Greater Good. The muggleborn double would benefit by having access to the Potter fame and fortune, while the real Harry would be better protected due to his enemies’ focus on the double.

He was pleased. He should have thought of this plan in the first place, if only to give young Harry an added layer of protection. Now who to use as the soon to be Harry’s guardian, he mused. It needed to be someone who would reinforce the illusion.

He smiled as the answer came to him. Yes, he would do nicely.

TGB TGB TGB

Daphne scooped the exhausted child up in her arms. The boy had been sleeping almost constantly since yesterday. Removing the soul shard had taken a lot out of the infant. Coupled with the just completed adoption ritual, and Henri Greengrass as he would now be known, was tuckered out.

It had been a close run thing. She had carefully calculated the dosage required for the Draught of Living Death and the Wiggenweld Potion for a child of his size and weight. She’d spent weeks preparing the multi-layered containment circle. It was critical to ensure the soul fragment did not vanish into the ether. She was proud of her work in arranging the flow of energy so as the fragment left Harry it would naturally migrate toward the magically attuned crystal she had prepared as its new receptacle.

Despite her careful calculations and preparation, the soul shard had proven stubborn. She was afraid that she might have inadvertently sent Harry into death’s true embrace, as opposed to the faux death she’d planned. Fortunately, it had eventually dislodged itself from its seemingly dying host and sought refuge in the nearest appropriate vessel.

Now a portion of Voldemort’s soul, containing his knowledge, will and sense of self, was safely stored in the crystal. The crystal was firmly lodged in a permanent fixed vice and connected to pain, pleasure and vocalization arrays. All of it was secured behind three layers of wards on the third and lowest basement level of the outbuilding she had constructed as her workshop on the Greengrass property.

Voldemort’s soul fragment was as secure as she could make it at the present time. She frowned as the infant murmured in his sleep, his head resting on her shoulder. That wasn’t necessarily true, she realized. It was possible to build additional redundancies into the system.

Her gaze wandered over to the crystal. She had the distinct impression that it was trying to influence her thinking, even if only on a subconscious level. She immediately reinforced her Occlumency shields. 

She would triple the protections as soon as she dropped Harry off at the farmhouse, even if she had to work all night, she resolved. Perhaps she should include a dead man’s switch, triggering a Fiendfyre rune cluster if the soul piece actually managed to wiggle its way out of the containment wards.

“Shush,” she whispered to Harry as he nuzzled himself deeper into her arms. Unlike Hermione, Harry was very much a cuddler. He had no reservations about Daphne, even as he awkwardly asked, and sometimes cried, for his dead parents. She half suspected that he sensed she’d saved him from a miserable fate.

“Mama, luv,” he mumbled, more than half asleep. Her heart leapt at his words, requiring her to instantly center herself to keep her emotions in check. He really was an adorable infant, she acknowledged once she’d restored her sense of detachment. After all, she couldn’t be sure he was referring to her or the regrettably deceased Lily Potter.

She turned her glare back to the crystal. She had no doubt that it could influence behavior. She shuddered to think of the negative impact it would have had on her son’s aunt and uncle if he’d been left to their care. 

She would have to ensure that additional precautions were taken before she attempted to communicate with it. Paranoia when dealing with this century’s most bloodthirsty Dark Lord, even if in an incorporeal state, was simple prudence.

The sun was going down when she finally left her workshop, after ensuring that all entrances were locked and the wards raised. Two floors were obvious to the eye. The ground level was her library, which she’d expanded greatly over the last several months. She’d almost fully recreated the library she’d left behind before traveling back in time.

The second floor was a fully equipped apartment. She knew she’d be spending many late evenings at work over the next few years. She saw no reason to disturb the family if she was to work late.

The three basement levels included potions and ritual rooms, cells for prisoners, and finally the small, heavily warded room now containing Voldemort’s fragmentary soul. The two bottom most levels she’d ensured were secured to the greatest degree possible by both magical and muggle means. A breach would be disastrous.

Thea was waiting for her at the kitchen door. “Let me take the little man,” she fussed as Daphne gratefully relinquished Harry. 

At sixteen months old he was not yet overly heavy, but it was tiring carrying him everywhere. He was a bit clingy following the deaths of his parents and he disliked walking, even if he were perfectly capable. 

Except when he was chasing after Hermione and Arthur, she amended. He hated being left out of their impromptu football games. She knew he’d fully recover someday from the trauma he’d experienced, if his constant demands to play were any indication.

“Thank you, mother,” Daphne said evenly. Harry didn’t fuss when his grandmother took him into her arms.

Hermione was seated at the kitchen table, her face covered in chocolate pie and vanilla ice cream. As often as her grandmother plied her with sweets, Daphne was surprised her daughter had not turned into a pudgeball. She assumed it was Arthur’s constant play which kept Hermione fit. Neither one of the two seemed to slow down over the course of a day. 

A brief look of jealousy flashed across the young girl’s face as she saw her brother being held by her grandmother. Hermione was having difficulty accepting the existence of a brother, especially one who took her grandparents attention away from her, however briefly. Instead, she loudly proclaimed she would have preferred a puppy.

Despite her initial resistance, Harry was slowly wearing her down. It didn’t hurt that he readily complied with her orders, which she appreciated and accepted as her due. Even at this early age, and despite the difference in circumstances, Harry was still deferring to Hermione, Daphne thought with amusement. 

She stretched as she looked across her family. She felt curiously content. Only Arthur wasn’t present. He was spending the day inspecting the grapevines as the harvest would be coming due soon.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. There was no time for rest. “I have to go back to work, mother,” she said regretfully. She worried if she slept before increasing the wards and installing failsafes she might forget or, as she suspected, be made to forget. “Can you care for the children? I won’t be back until well after their bedtime.”

“Of course, dear,” Thea replied, planting a kiss on Harry’s head, to Hermione’s visible displeasure. “My little angel,” she said with a glance toward Hermione, “is just finishing up her desert. Then it’s a bath for both of them and then bed.”

Bath and bed sounded glorious to Daphne. She steeled herself. This would be the first of many long evenings if Astoria was to be saved. Bath and bed could wait.


End file.
